


Hit like Aaron Judge

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [19]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, An absurd amount of baseball, Baseball, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Poor choices, a lots of angst, acknowledge of character's disability, lots of snark, though knowledge of baseball is not needed for this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: Killian's son loves baseball more than anything. He eats, drinks, thinks and dreams about it. Killian wants nothing more to bond with him, but baseball is very much a two-handed sport.





	Hit like Aaron Judge

**Author's Note:**

> A part of me wants to apologize for the amount of baseball in this fic, but I can’t. I just can’t. Anyway, you really don’t need to know baseball to understand what’s going on in this fic, Killian is just as clueless as anyone when it comes it. But yeah, I really like this one for no reason whatsoever other than I got to sure my baseball love alongside my love for OUAT. As usual, I am nothing without the support and help of welpthisishappening. She’s amazing. Go check out her amazing cooking fic folks! It’s hella awesome as is she. Questions, concerns or concerns - message me on tumblr @ distant-rose.tumblr.com

If someone asked Killian when the whole baseball fiasco started, he would say it started with the television.

Killian had come home, tired from another day of fielding complaints and ferreting a wild squirrel from the McRae’s attic, to find his three youngest all in the living room. Beth and Wes were in a heated argument over what to watch on the television in the house while Neddy was watching them with a perplexed expression.

Nothing about this scene was new to Killian. Beth and Wes were a frightening pair; sometimes the thickest of thieves while in other times the bitterest of enemies. Both always wanted their own way, which in a house where there was (purposely) only one television, having one’s way wasn’t always a feasible option. They were constantly locked in a never-ending battle of tug of war, which was never better illustrated better than the current scene of them both pulling on a black television remote at different ends.

“Give me the fucking clicker or I swear I will tell Mom and Dad about Bobbi sneaking over in the middle of the night,” Beth hissed through clenched teeth, looking very much like her mother when she was in Savior Mode™.

The threat nearly caused Killian to snort. As if he didn’t already know. These kids thought they were actually slick enough to get pass him and Emma. He could teach them a thing or two, but that would let them on to the fact that Killian was very much aware of what happened under his roof.

“Not happening anytime soon, Princess.” Wes glared back.

At this point in the game, Killian knew he should intervene before someone got hurt or worse, the couch broke again, but he was exhausted and need of at least five minutes to himself before he could slip back into Dad Mode™. They were old enough where they should be able to figure this out for themselves. (Of course, he knew the operative word there was “should” and that word rarely had panned out.)

Somehow in their battle of television dominance, the remote went flying into the air. Both Beth and Wes scrabbled for it, but the winner was neither party. It landed only a few feet away from where Neddy was sitting. Though he was only seven, Neddy seemed to realize the significance and power the remote held, and seized it without a moment’s hesitation.

“Give it here, Neddy,” Wes commanded, holding out his hand and making an impatient motion.

“Bug, if you give me the remote, I will teach you how to kick ass with a sword,” Beth bribed.

Neddy looked between the two of them for a moment before meeting Killian’s eye over their shoulders. He was giving him an exasperated look that said, “see what I have to deal with.” Killian was struck by how much his youngest son looked like his long deceased brother. His expression was pure Liam.

“The Yankees game is on in ten minutes,” Neddy said calmly.

“You’re not serious!” Wes exclaimed. “We watched the Yankees yesterday! No way we are doing baseball twice in a row. No, I’m invoking my right as the eldest in the room and we’re going to watch Top Gun.”

“We watch Top Gun like every week, Wes! Enough with the constant Tom Cruise! I missed Darkest Hour yesterday and there’s a rerun of the episode coming on soon!” Beth protested.

“Isn’t Darkest Hour an ABC show?” Wes asked with a quirked brow.

“Yeah. Your point?”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Princess. It will be trash by season four...if it makes it that far.”

“The Yankees are on in eight minutes and they’re playing the Sox,” Neddy informed them in an increasingly impatient tone. “We’re watching the game. The Yankees are only one game ahead in the AL series. Plus there’s a new pitcher and he’s a leftie like me.”

“No way! Give it here, Bug, before I squash you!” Wes narrowed his eyes.

And that was Killian’s cue to fall back into his role as a parent. He could not have his fourteen-year old beat on his seven-year old. It just wasn’t a fair fight.

“No one is squashing or being squashed,” he said in a tired tone as he walked into the living room and gave them his best dad stare. “You and Beth are acting like toddlers. Ned has the remote. He gets to choose. My word is final.”

Wes and Beth’s eyes bulged upon the realization that their father had witnessed their pitiful squabble while Neddy just grinned and changed the channel. He settled into the couch, short legs swinging in happiness as he watched the pre-game commentary. Killian had no sense of baseball. He had gotten a handle on football but baseball eluded him. It seemed incredibly dull and he was amazed Neddy had the patience to watch it.

“This better just be a phase,” Wes groaned, leaning back into the couch as well and putting his hands over his eyes.

“It is,” Killian reassured him, patting him on the shoulder. “It will be over soon. Just like how he was with the dinosaurs. I cannot tell you how many things you were into at that age. The things you liked changed with the wind. One moment it was Power Rangers and their dreadful costuming, the next it was Batman and you were constantly torturing your sister by making her be your Robin.”

“I see nothing has changed then,” Beth said, picking up her glass of lemonade off the coffee table and giving it a sip. “And by that, I mean both the torturing and the bad fashion choices.”

“I didn’t do anything that wasn’t sanctioned by the Geneva Convention,” Wes quipped back at her.

“Oh really? Ever heard of cruel and unusual punishment? The Constitution frowns upon that, you unlawful ass.”

“You know what should be unlawful?” Killian asked them casually. He barreled forward, without even waiting for a response. “Listening to the two of you argue day after day. I mean, you should be grateful. You’re family. You will have each other for the rest of your lives. No one is going to look after you like your siblings. Maybe you should try being kinder to one another.”

Both of them were quiet for a moment. The only sound that could be heard was the baseball announcer on the television screen who spoke with a profound Long Island accent.

“What’s the return policy on sisters?” Wes asked for a moment. “And if we can’t necessarily return her, is it possibly to swap her for someone else? Someone nicer and with less of a mouth? Like Ruthie?”

“I’m done,” Killian said finally, throwing his hands up and backing away. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you both snip back and forth. I’m tired. I’m covered in dust. Harrison and Neal’s football game starts in an hour and a half. I don’t need this. Enjoy your batball, Neddy.”

“Baseball, Dad, baseball,” Neddy corrected while never taking his eyes off the screen. “Hey Wes, do you think I can be as good of a pitcher as Jordan Montgomery?”

“I have no idea who that is, but sure, kid.”

The baseball chat didn’t go away as Killian expected however. If anything, it got worse. Neddy would not stop talking about baseball, particularly in regard to the New York Yankees. It seemed like the boy talked, ate, drank, slept and dreamt about baseball. Anytime Killian tried to have a discussion with him, it always led back to baseball. And every week, Neddy seemed to harass them more and more for jerseys, hats and equipment. He would never forget the look on his son’s face when his wife brought home a baseball glove. It was as if his mother had handed him the Holy Grail rather than an expensive piece of brown leather.

“This phase is lasting longer than expected,” Killian commented to Emma one day as they were picnicking with her parents.

“I’m not so sure it’s a phase,” Emma replied with a faint smile. “I think he actually likes it. I mean Harrison has been playing catch with him every day this week. He’s doing pretty good, considering he’s a little kid.”

Killian frowned.

“I didn’t know that. How come I don’t know that?”

Emma shrugged.

“You don’t know everything, Killian,” she said. “I don’t see why this is such a big deal. They’re just playing catch. Though if you want to go see what the fuss is about, he and Dad are playing outside.”

Killian frowned. He had been focused on his thoughts, he hadn’t even realized that he hadn’t spoken to David the entire time they had been over. Without saying a word to Emma, he headed out of the kitchen and into his in-laws’ backyard. He immediately spotted Ruthie and Beth on the swing set, Ruthie babbling away while Beth was on her phone, nodding occasionally. It was quite obvious to Killian that Beth had not heard a single word that she had said, but Ruthie carried on, not realizing her niece wasn’t listening.

David and Neddy were the middle of the yard, each wearing a mitt. They were tossing a ball back and forth, stepping farther back with every new throw. Neither of them seemed notice Killian standing in the doorway, watching them.

“You got a strong arm there, kid,” David grinned as he caught the ball. He transferred the ball from his mitt to his hand casually before throwing it back to Neddy. “You going to be an outfielder?”

“No,” Neddy scoffed as if he had been insulted. He caught David’s throw with ease before assuming some sort of ridiculous stance. “I’m going to be a pitcher.”

Neddy hopped as he threw the ball back at David, his fingertips practically touching the tip of his shoe as he leaned forward with the force of the throw. The ball hit David’s glove with a loud snap. David looked at his glove then looked at his grandson, eyebrows raised almost to his hairline. He looked somewhere between bewildered and impressed.

“Like Babe Ruth?”

“Babe Ruth was an outfielder when he played for the Yankees. And he’s kinda dead,” Neddy replied with a shrug. He made a snapping motion with his glove, as if asking David to throw it back right away.

“Not kinda dead. Actually dead, kiddo. Like back in the 1940s,” David laughed as he tossed the ball back to Neddy. “Okay, so no Babe Ruth. How about Chris Sale? He’s also a left hander.”

“Chris Sale is a Red Sox pitcher,” Neddy replied, grimacing. “No. I would rather be Jordan Montgomery.”

Killian had no idea what or who they were talking about, but it was very obvious that David and Neddy were quite knowledgeable on their chosen subject. Neddy, despite his near constant disagreements with David so far, was smiling in a way that he never had at Killian. Jealousy churred in his gut.

“Chris Sale is a much better pitcher, kiddo. Why Montgomery?” David asked, looking very confused.

“Because he’s on the Yankees. Duh.” Neddy attempted to roll his eyes in the same fashion of Wes, but only was able to do it partially. Despite his attitude, it was almost painfully adorable.

“You live in Maine. You’re in Sox territory. You should be a Sox fan,” David admonished him as he patted his glove.

“Maine doesn’t have a team so no. Mom says I can root for whoever I want. And the Sox suck.” Ned punctuated the statement by throwing the ball as hard as he could. It was a wild throw and David had to jump to get it. He caught it but only barely.

“Watch the language, Edward David,” David said lightly, wagging the glove in Neddy’s direction despite the fact it still contained the ball. It might not had been his brightest decision as the ball fall out of his grasp. David ignored it however.  “And the Red Sox do not suck. What makes the Yankees so much better?”

Neddy scoffed, sounding more like a teenager than a seven-year old.

“Umm…One word. Rinnnnnngs,” he replied, elongating the last word with impish delight. “World Series rings.”

“Is that your only argument, kiddo?” David raised his eyebrow again as he tossed back the ball.

“It’s the only argument I need, Grandpa David.”

“Typical pirate. Going for the team with the most historic wins because you want to root for a winning team. I’m blame your father for that.” David shook his head.

Neddy threw another wild throw that had David leaping into action. He grunted as he pushed on his legs, springing into the air. The ball went into the glove with a loud smack and David placed his other hand on top of the glove, wincing as the ball collided with his bare hand as it tried to ricochet out.

It was as he watched David jump up to catch the ball that Killian realized one thing. He was incapable of playing a basic game of catch. The process involved two working hands. One to place inside the mitt and catch while the other to keep the ball from escaping as well as to throw. Killian was very much capable of throwing a baseball, but catching one? Unless he planned on catching and throwing with the same hand, it would never do. It would take him forever to keep putting on and taking off the glove. And considering the loud impact the ball had with the gloves, catching a ball barehanded seemed out of the question.

And his son knew it, he further realized. Neddy knew his disability would keep him from having a normal game of catch. That was the only conclusion that Killian could come to about why he was only finding out about these catch sessions. The realization was a bitter one to come to terms with. Killian’s fist clenched at his side as he continued to watch his father-in-law and his son bond over a sport he had no capability of playing.

He watched for a few more moments before he went back inside. For the rest of the evening, he tried to keep his jealousy down as David and Neddy continued their baseball talk. Emma seemed to realize what was going on because halfway through dinner, she leaned her head against his shoulder and took his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze under the table.

Killian didn’t say anything however. He kept himself for the remainder of the night, trying to think of ways to get around his one-handed issue and debating in his head whether it was worth the risk of asking the Dark One for his hand back again. As soon as the thought wormed its way into his brain, he pushed it out. After so many years of peace between him and the Crocodile, he wasn’t willing to rehash that whole fiasco. Emma would kill him. Or worse, divorce him and take the kids.

“Neddy doesn’t ask me to play catch with him because I have one hand,” Killian stated quietly later that night as he and his wife prepared for bed.

Emma, who had been brushing her teeth, spat and rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. She sat her toothbrush down on the sink and met his eyes in the mirror.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He’s a perceptive little boy. But then again, he’s your son, so it shouldn’t be that surprising, considering you love to brag about reading people like books.”

“I brag about reading you like a book. Just you. No one else.”

“Huh,” Emma blinked. “Well then. Good to know.”

Killian didn’t say anything. He just unscrewed his hook and stared down at his empty brace with a dark expression.

“It bothers you.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Aye,” he responded quietly.

Emma padded softly out of their en-suite and sat down beside him, slinging an arm over his shoulders and leaning against him until her smooth cheek grazed his.

“It’s never bothered you before. Harrison loves football and playing guitar. You can’t do either. Wes seems determined to be Regina and he plays the drums. You can’t do magic. Beth loves…I can’t think of anything Beth loves that you can’t do, but that might be on purpose because you’re her idol,” Emma sighed. “But the point is that there are some things you can’t do that they can and it’s never bothered you before.”

“Harrison doesn’t love football, Swan. He plays it because of Dave and Neal. He tolerates it at best. And I might not be able to play an actual guitar, but I’m quite good at those Guitar Hero and Rockband games. And I may not practice magic, but that doesn’t matter when we watch those absurd Monty Python films together. I have other things with them. Harrison and I play darts. Wes and I play cards. Beth is becoming quite the navigator on my tutelage…. But Neddy…I have nothing with him and baseball is everything to him. The one thing he loves, I can’t do.”

“Killian, he’s seven. He has a one-track mind right now, but it won’t be forever. He’ll find other interests,” Emma said gently, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You just have to be patient. You’ll find something. I have every faith in you.”

“You truly think so?” he asked quietly.

“I know so, babe. Now let’s get some sleep.”

Killian spent the next two weeks following their conversation trying to find something for Neddy and himself to do. All he discovered was that his youngest was nearly as competitive as himself and would blatantly cheat at Monopoly, had no patience being schooled by his father in Rockband and wasn’t the best at cards. Killian had wanted to introduce him to darts but Emma had forbidden it, stating that it was far too dangerous and they could revisit the idea when the boy hit double digits. If anything though, Killian’s attempts were backfiring and Neddy was trying to avoid him more than ever.

In fact, Neddy did his best to only speak to his father when it was absolutely necessary. That was until Emma had decided to take their older children over to Regina’s for some sort of magic lesson and left Killian and Neddy alone in the house.

“Hey Dad…have you seen Harrison?” Neddy asked, looking somewhat anxious.

Killian, who had settled on the couch with a copy of the Odyssey in its original Greek format, looked up from his choice of literature with a quirked brow.

“He’s with your mother at Regina’s,” he stated lightly, marking his space.

“Oh…okay…where’s Wes?”

“Also at Regina’s.” Killian scratched behind his ear, offering the boy a small sad smile.

“…And Beth?”

“Regina’s too.”

Neddy sighed, looking thoroughly disappointed. His lips twisted into a lopsided frown as he stared down at his feet.

“Is there something you need help with, Bug?” Killian asked gently, invoking the boy’s nickname which he had since the time he was an infant. It had been Emma’s pet name for him as a baby in reference to Neddy’s large blue eyes. It wasn’t often that Killian used the nickname, but when he did, it was generally when he was looking to coax his son into opening up. The kid was like Fort Knox when he wanted to be.

Neddy looked positively conflicted. He bounced on his toes and bit his lip as he regarded his father for a moment.

“I wanted to get some hitting done. I’m starting to really get the hang of it. I was hoping that Harrison could pitch me some balls so I could work on my swing. It’s okay though. I’ll just go get my DS and play Pokemon.”

“I can toss for you, if you would like. I’m quite good with darts. I cannot imagine that would not translate well into throwing a ball,” Killian said after a moment.

Neddy gave him a doubtful look.

“Are you sure?” He sounded skeptical.

“Of course, I’m sure,” Killian responded, taking one of the decorative pillows and throwing it at him. Neddy dodged it barely, looking taken back by the fact his father had thrown something at him. “I don’t need two hands to throw, Bug. Come on, let’s get some practice in.”

Neddy grinned at him for the first time in what seemed like days and for once, Killian felt like he had won; there was finally a click. It wasn’t long afterwards that Killian found himself in his backyard with a bucket full of beat-up baseballs. Neddy took his bat and drew a thick square into the dirt.

“See this? This is where I need you to pitch,” he said before gesturing to the length between his shoulders and his knees. “And this is the strike zone. That’s where the ball should be. Do you want to take some practice throws?”

“I believe that would be the operative thing to do,” Killian replied, trying to suppress his nerves. He wasn’t entirely sure if how fast or how slow his son wanted him to throw.

In his mind’s eye, he tried to imagine the box that his son had pointed out to him. Tentatively, he gave a toss, aiming for the middle of the imaginary box. The ball sailed past Neddy and hit their fence with a dull thud.

Neddy gave a nod of approval.

“Yeah. That will work. It’s a good pitch,” he said with a grin before taking some ridiculous stance and pulling the bat back until it settled at an near thirty-degree angle over Neddy’s shoulder.

Killian honestly didn’t know a lick about baseball aside the fact it involved throwing and hitting a ball with a bat, but he was certain that if he did, he would be doing a lot of corrections to that stance. If swinging a bat was anything like swinging a sword, then he needed to loosen his grip a bit, but he refrained from making any remarks.

“Ready?” Killian asked, holding up another ball.

Neddy’s grin widened.

“Bring it!”

Again, he imagined the square in his mind and tossed the ball. He watched as Neddy’s big blue eyes tracked the ball with intense concentration before it made contact with the bat. An almost satisfying crack sounded throughout the yard and the ball went flying, knocking into the trees.

Killian chuckled, slightly impressive with how far and how high Neddy had hit. He wasn’t sure if that was an impressive range for a small child, but his son seemed rather satisfied with it.

“That was a good one,” he complimented.

Neddy blushed darkly, the tips of his ears turning red. He looked almost bashful for a moment, more his age.

“I’ve hit it farther than that before,” he mumbled before taking the stance again. “Another one please.”

Killian could not help but chuckle a bit as he picked up another ball. He tossed it casually in the air for a moment as he regarded his son. Neddy was waiting and though he was completely focused on the ball in Killian’s hand, his eyes were alight and every single part of him seemed energized. Killian realized his wife was right; this wasn’t a phase. Neddy was truly in love with the sport.

There was another resounding crack as Neddy’s bat connected with the ball again. It sailed over Killian’s shoulder and hit the top of the red shed with a loud thud.

“Something tells me you’re going to be breaking more windows than your brothers did when they were playing lacrosse,” Killian commented casually as he picked up another ball. He honestly didn’t miss the lacrosse days. Too many times balls that come through the glass and landed in the kitchen. Once they were old enough, Killian had made them both replace the windows themselves. “I mean if you have this much power at seven, I cannot even imagine what you’re going to be able to do when you’re older.”

“Hit like Aaron Judge, of course,” Neddy grinned.

“Who?” The name didn’t sound remotely familiar to Killian at all.

“Aaron Judge. Right fielder for the Yankees. Beat Joe DiMaggio’s rookie homerun record. He’s super big. Bigger than Henry! Bigger than you and Grandpa David! And Wes! And even Neal! Like even bigger than Harrison!” Neddy exclaimed in a breath of excitement.

“No one is bigger than Harrison. He’s part giant,” Killian teased, amused by the enthusiasm.

“No really! He’s bigger than Harrison!” Neddy asserted before pausing for a moment. “Wait! Do you think he’s part giant too?”

Considering that Neddy was talking about a professional baseball player from the Realm Without Magic, Killian highly doubted that this Aaron Judge character had a lick of magic in him. However, the look of wonder on Neddy’s face made him want to keep the charade up as long as possible.

“It’s completely possible,” Killian replied with a tiny smirk. “You never know these days.”

Neddy gaped, his eyes looking even larger as he contemplated the idea. Killian reached into the bucket and picked up another ball. The second he moved, Neddy’s eyes followed him much like the way a starved dog followed a bone. Killian grinned.

“Ready for another?”

Neddy smiled, beating his bat against the earth and sending dirt flying all over the place. He resumed his batter’s position eagerly, tapping his front feet repeatedly.

“Yeah!”

Killian threw the ball in the same manner that he had thrown the others. Like the other two, Neddy’s bat made contact except this time instead of sailing into the air, it went straight back at Killian. He realized quite immediately that there was no time to move out of the way. Acting on instinct, Killian moved to catch the careening ball with his bare hand and learned rather quickly why players of this sport wore a glove to catch.

Pain immediately shot up his arm like a lightning bolt. And almost immediately he dropped to his knees, cradling his hand against his chest. The bucket of baseballs was accidently kicked over as he made his way down, but Killian paid it no mind. He was more focused on the sharp pain that seemed to be pulsating from his hand. As he looked down at it, he surveyed the unnatural bending and angles of his fingers and knew on no uncertain terms that he had broken his only hand. He gritted his teeth, holding back the litany of curses that wanted to spew from his mouth.

“Dad?” Neddy called, alarmed.

Killian looked up from his hand to see his son standing over him with a face as white as a sheet. Neddy’s expression looked caught between guilty and scared. Killian tried his best to twist his lips into a smile, but all he could accomplish at that moment was a pained grimace.

“Ned, my lad, go call your mother,” he said in the calmest voice he could muster.

“You’re really hurt, aren’t you Dad?” Neddy asked in a small voice.

“Ned…go call your mother,” Killian repeated.

“Dad…do we need an ambulance? Do I need to call 9-1-1?” Neddy was increasingly getting more panicked with each word.

“Edward,” Killian hissed. “Edward David Jones, for the love of all the gods on Olympus, go get my phone on the counter and call your mother.”

“But, Dad”- “NOW!” Killian roared, interrupting his son. “STOP TALKING. GO CALL EMMA.”

Killian was not in the habit at yelling at his children. (Okay, that was a lie. He yelled quite frequently at Wes, but that was more the exception than the rule.) He preferred to use stern lecturing as his tool of reprimand. Neddy wasn’t used to Killian losing his temper and looked as if Killian had physically slapped him across the face. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as Neddy turned on his heel and ran back into the house. Killian was too focused on the overwhelming throbbing of his hand to truly feel any remorse at that moment. It was already three times larger than it should have been and turning into a fascinating shade of purple.

Whatever Neddy said to his wife must have been severe because it wasn’t long before his wife and Regina appeared in a cloud of purple smoke. Emma’s eyes were wild as they locked on him and she hurried over to his side. Regina remained where she was, looking both impatient and entirely unimpressed.

“Are you okay? Bug is in hysterics and was going on about how he broke you and that you were going to die!” Emma exclaimed as she knelt down beside him.

“He didn’t break me, just my hand,” Killian replied, wincing slightly. “Everything else is still intact.”

“So, this isn’t an emergency at all then? Your kid is just being dramatic? Typical,” Regina huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Both Killian and Emma gave her a look, but made no verbal comment. Both of them were practically immune to her barbs at this point.

“What happened?” Emma asked, placing her hand on Killian’s cheek.

“I was helping Neddy with his batting session and he hit a ball back at me. I tried to catch it but apparently those balls pack a larger punch than I expected and I’m pretty certain I’ve broken a variety of bones in my hand,” Killian grimaced. “I guess they wear gloves for a reason.”

“They do indeed,” Regina replied with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe you should leave the baseball practice for people who are actually capable of catching.”

“Regina…” Emma glared at her over her shoulder. There was a bit of warning in her voice, but the queen in question merely shrugged.

“Can I see it?” Emma asked in a gentle tone that she normally only used on their children.

Killian gingerly raised his arm from where he had awkwardly cradled it against his chest. His fingers and palm, still a deep purple, had ballooned to almost comical portions. Emma hissed in sympathy as she surveyed it. She moved her hand to touch it, but pulled back at the last minute as if realizing that might not be the best course of action.

“Shit, Killian,” she murmured, continuing to study it. “That’s definitely broken.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.” He normally doesn’t give his wife this much sass, but the throbbing in his hand has left him rather short.

“How hell are we going to survive the next few weeks if you don’t have your hand?” Emma asked in a small voice, voicing the thought that Killian didn’t want to think about.

“A few weeks?” Regina scoffed. “Emma! You have magic! I don’t know how you constantly keep forgetting that! I tutor your damn children in it. You can mend that thing in seconds.”

Emma blinked, looking positively bewildered. It was quite clear that the thought of using her magic hadn’t even crossed her mind in the slightest.

Regina let out an impatient sigh.

“Give it here, Guyliner. Let me show your wife how to do a proper mending spell. She should have learned this age ago. No wonder your children are constantly covered in scratches and bruises. I wouldn’t ever let Robin or Henry walk around like that,” Regina replied, making a beckoning motion with her hand.

Killian gave Regina a dubious look but lifting himself up with Emma’s assistance. Tentatively, he held out his hand for her to examine. Regina rolled her eyes at his hesitation before gingerly taking his broken hand between hers. Tendrils of magic swirled around their hands and Killian gritted his teeth in pain as he felt his bones and ligaments straightened themselves out.

Regina caught his expression and scoffed.

“What? Did you think this was going to be painless? I’m literally speeding up four-weeks’ worth healing into a few milliseconds. Next time you think you can do something that requires two hands, don’t. It would save us all the time and effort.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Killian replied, barely managing to refrain from rolling his eyes.

As soon as she was finished, Regina dropped his newly healed hand as if it were something distasteful. Killian paid her no mind, stretching out his fingers. It was an odd sensation. They felt a little numb and full of pins and needles as if he had slept on his hand for too long rather than shattering it while trying to catch a baseball.

“Good as new,” Regina said gruffly. “No need to thank me. If there are no more minor injuries gained from thoughtless exploits, I’ll be going. Three of your spawn are still at my home and quite frankly, I don’t trust them not to break anything.”

“Thanks Regina,” Emma sighed, not bothering to take the bait before turning to her husband. “Now that we’ve settled that. Let’s go find Bug and let him know you’re not dead.”

It had taken fifteen minutes of coaxing and buying ice cream from the Zimmers’ new shop to convince Neddy that Killian wasn’t on the verge of dying. As they walked down the street to the ice cream shop, Neddy held his father’s hand tightly as if afraid that it would disappear if he let go. The three of them sat in the shop for a good hour, the most of it spent talking to Ava about how she and her brother were doing while Neddy squirreled himself away on Killian’s lap with a huge helping of chocolate ice cream.

The baseball talk stopped after that incident. The balls, bats and makeshift bases which had been scattered around the house seemed to vanish overnight. Instead of wearing t-shirts with the names “Jeter”, “Judge”, “Sanchez” and “Austin” emblazoned on the back, Neddy took up Wes’s penchant for wearing hoodies, (which admittedly made both Emma and Killian a little nervous but no sense of serious mischief came with the outfit change.) He grew quieter and reserved, and Killian felt slightly guilty for it. In house full of teenagers, Neddy’s constant chatter had been both adorable and refreshing in comparison to his other children’s biting sarcasm and angry huffs.

Killian had ruined baseball for his son. Or so he thought.

There weren’t many people who knew about it, but Killian Jones had a sweet tooth that would put any small child to shame. Sugar had been all too rare for him the majority of his life and now all he needed to do was pop by the supermarket and choose from a countless number of options. He had an intense fondness for moon pies, which his wife made clear not to indulge citing she didn’t want him getting “love handles” whatever those were. Regardless, he made a weekly pit stop to the grocery store in order to resupply his secret stash that he kept at the station.

While leaving the store with his prized chocolate taboo, Killian was approached by tall brown-haired man with greying temples and a kind smile. He looked vaguely familiar and Killian was nearly certain that they had probably met a few times at his in-laws’ social endeavors.

“Hey…you’re Killian, right?” He asked with some embarrassment. “Emma Swan’s husband?”

Killian had long gotten used to the fact that most citizens of Storybrooke seemed to recognize him as “Sheriff Swan’s husband.” He honestly preferred that than being recognized by his more colorful moniker. It was better to be recognized as a family man than a villain.

“Aye,” he affirmed. “Can I help you?”

“You probably don’t recognize me, but I’m Jim. I’m the gym teacher at Storybrooke Elementary and I coach a lot of the youth summer sports. We’ve met a few times at David and Mary Margaret’s. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your son,” the man said.

Killian remembered him now. He was the husband of David’s first “wife” Katheryn. Killian was a little fuzzy on the details of that particular tale, but he knew that all parties involved were on good terms.

“Which son?” Killian frowned. “I have four of them.”

Jim gave him a strange look and Killian could see him mentally tallying all of Killian’s children in his head. Everyone seemed to forget about Henry now that he was grown and living on his own. Regardless of blood or age, Killian always counted him.

“…Neddy…” Jim said after a moment, deciding not to question him on the number. “He’s quite the little athlete. He did amazing at baseball camp last week and so far this season, he’s been hitting doubles and triples off the adults. He didn’t play tee ball with the rest of the boys, but that doesn’t seem to be holding him back. The kid can really hit.”

“Thank you,” Killian replied because that was all he could say.

He had absolutely no clue what this man was talking about. Killian had been aware that his son had been away at sleepover camp up until yesterday, but he hadn’t been cued into the details that the camp was baseball focused. Aside from that, the way it sounded, his son was enrolled in some league and he hadn’t heard a word about it before now.

“Yeah. He’s a good kid. I’m glad to have him on my team,” Jim kept going, seemingly oblivious to Killian’s inner revelations. “He really loves baseball. Really loves it. He could be the next Aaron Judge if he let go of those pitching aspirations and became an outfielder. It would be better for his arms that way. But anyway, I’ve never seen you or Emma at the games. Only the other boys. Harrison and Neal, I think? But I think it would mean a lot to Neddy if you came to the game tonight, to you know, show some support.”

Killian struggled to keep his jaw from working. A large part of him was royally pissed off mainly at his eldest for keeping this from him. He never thought he would see the day where Harrison would try to pull the wool over his and Emma’s eyes. Regardless of his thoughts on baseball or the hand incident, Killian wasn’t going to stop Neddy from playing or liking the sport. In fact, he preferred the baseball obsession to the quiet, sullen kid he had been around the house. However, it wasn’t the secret itself that bothered him, but the lack of thought that went into it. What if Neddy had been hurt at game? There wasn’t much Killian and his wife could do if they didn’t know what was going on. Killian deserved to know where his kids were and what they were doing, if only for that reason.

At the same time, he was also a little impressed. This wasn’t a small thing to keep under wraps. Some effort must have been put into this charade in order to keep it going for more than a week. That took some initiative and cleverness that he had expected more from Wes than Harrison and Neddy. Perhaps Harrison was craftier than he had initially given him credit for.

“When and where is the game?” Killian asked in the calmest tone he could muster.

“The games are always at the elementary school. It starts at four. We normally do seven innings only to keep the parents from getting too grouchy. Hope to see you there, Killian.”

Killian had planned on telling his wife about his conversation with Jim and informing her that their son had been in a baseball league without their knowledge, but she had been on a call for the entirety of the afternoon and by the time, four o’clock rolled around, he had not seen his wife since lunchtime. He stared the door for forty-five minutes, waiting for her to walk through before deciding to cut his losses and go see Neddy, and hopefully Harrison, at the baseball game.

When Killian arrived, the game was in full swing. There were parents milling around everywhere and kids screaming chants as a new player came up to bat. Harassed-looking coaches stood in the middle of the baseball diamond as they pitched to their players, often times looking like they wanted to be anywhere but there. The two teams wore different colors, black and green. Killian immediately spotted Neddy sporting a black jersey with a huge ‘2’ on his back and a black cap that made his dark thick hair push out and curl over his ears.

Killian scanned the crowds, looking for a sign of Harrison or Neal but they were nowhere to be seen. He sighed as he leaned back against his car, crossing his arms in front of his chest and focusing all of his energy, not on the game but on his son who seemed to be animatedly chatting with a few other boys.

“It’s 3-0, Black.”

Killian blinked, looking away from his son to look at the stranger who had spoken. It was a man in his mid-thirties, slightly balding with a growing beer belly. He was wearing what Killian’s wife called “the stereotypical suburban dad uniform” of a white polo, belt and khaki pants.

“Pardon?” Killian asked, not sure if the man was talking to him or not.

“It’s 3-0, Black. As in that’s the score. I’m assuming you’re watching the game,” he said, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

“Oh. Thank you,” Killian replied dismissively, hoping the man would take the hint to leave him alone.

It appeared his unwanted companion didn’t take the hint because he gave Killian a smile and leaned against the chainlink fence right next to Killian’s car. Killian closed his eyes for a moment and counted to ten. It would be frowned upon if he threatened someone with his hook and he had done a lot over the years to make himself more personable as the deputy of Storybrooke.

“Are you a parent?” The man asked.

“Yes,” Killian sighed.

“What team is your son on?”

“Black,” Killian stated, hoping his one word answers would stop the man from pursuing the conversation further.

“Oh nice. You guys have an excellent team. Tons of little hitters on your squad. It’s no wonder you’re undefeated in the league. I wish my son was on your team. It would make these nights a little more exciting and maybe my kid would actually have fun for once. I don’t know if you’ve looked at the standings, but the Mean Green Machines haven’t been doing so great. We’re below five hundred,” the man droned on.

Realizing that his companion was going to keep on nattering, Killian tuned him on as he returned his focus to Neddy. His son was putting on a helmet and taking some practice swings. His eyes were trained on the coach pitching to the kid at the plate, swinging each time the ball pass over the plate.

“Oh no, that kid is coming up again. I hope we get this out before he gets up to the plate,” the man said, breaking Killian’s focus.

“I’m sorry?” Killian asked, barely keeping his tone civil.

“That number 2 kid. He’s the worst. He’s really in the wrong league. He should be playing with the older kids instead of being in a coach-pitch league. It’s just not fair to the other kids.”

“He’s seven,” Killian replied through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t play like he’s seven,” the other father replied.

Apparently, the other team didn’t get “the out” they desired because Neddy went up to the plate and all the coaches shouted, “leftie hitter!” Immediately all the boys on the field shifted to the right as Neddy took his stance at home plate.  

“No, no, no,” the man shook his head. “He’s a puller! He’s a puller! You idiots! We learned this last inning! He’s going to slap it up the third base line!”

Killian had no idea what any of this meant, but he found himself getting increasingly annoyed once more and debated in his head the pros and cons of punching the other father in the face. However, more than that, he wanted his son to hit that ball as far as he could just so he could the man lose his mind.

“Come on, Bug,” Killian muttered under his breath as he watched his son swing and miss at a ball.

When the next pitch was thrown, Neddy’s bat made contact with a satisfying crack. The ball flew over the third baseman’s head. It continued its path over the outfielder, hitting the back fence and bouncing a bit before settling in the grass. Killian grinned as the other father groaned. The coaches seemed to be losing their minds as they commanded their players to round the bases. Neddy stopped at the last one, giving the base coach a high five.

“I hate that kid,” the man grumbled.

“That’s my son.” Killian’s tone was nothing short of frosty.

Man’s eyes bulged as he realized he had been bad mouthing Neddy in front of his father for the past ten minutes. Killian offered him a sardonic smile.

“He’s a good player,” the other father begrudgingly. “You must be proud.”

“I am,” Killian said quietly. “I’m immensely proud.”

After a few more awkward minutes of silence, the other man finally realized how much he had overstayed his welcome and finally left. With his departure, Killian was blessed with watching his son play in his game undisturbed by other parents. He did, however, realize that some of the other parents were looking over at him and whispering, but he paid them no heed. He didn’t give two figs what they were saying about him. He was here for his kid.

The game ended rather quickly to Killian’s surprise. From what he understood, Neddy’s black team had “mercied” the green team, allowing the other team to surrender with some dignity in tact. As the teams lined up to shake hands, Neddy’s eyes found Killian’s. He watched with some satisfaction as his son’s face paled when he realized he was, for a lack of a better term, busted.

Instead of joining his team in the post-game huddle, Neddy approached Killian. He took off his hat, fingers gripping the brim of it nervously. He looked like he was approaching to a hangman’s noose.

“Hey Dad, listen, I’m”-“That was a good game,” Killian interrupted him in a calm tone.

Neddy blinked. This was not the reception he had been expecting.

“What?”

“That was a good game,” Killian repeated patiently. “You played well. You can really smack the ball, but I knew that first hand. How about we go get some ice cream?”

Neddy looked confused.

“You’re not mad?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh, I’m furious,” Killian said in a cheerful tone. “But we’ll discuss how you and Harrison pulled this fast one later. I’m finding myself quite hungry and Ava said there’s a new ice cream flavor that tastes like moon pies. Shall we?”


End file.
